Insanity Is An Attractive Quality In Woman

Prologue

Netherfield Park, 2:00 p.m., Second Parlor

“So,” ventured Charles Bingley, known mostly as Charlie, “how angry are you?”

Will threw something across the room. It shattered.

“Well, at least it wasn't valuable. That was my grandfather's jewel-encrusted snuffbox, you-”

“Whatever,” Will snapped. “You know I'll reimburse you if it's that important.”

“It is, actually. It was handmade in the 1700s. Those jewels used to belong to Queen Catherine of Prussia-”

Will almost-laughed. “Okay, now I know you're just messing with me.”

“Yeah,” Charles admitted. “It's not important. What's important is, what happened with Dalia?”

“We broke up.”

“I can surmise that. But why…….why are you so……”

“I don't even know.” Will put his head in his hands and sat down uneasily on a sofa. “She thought I was cheating on her, but I think really that was her excuse for breaking up with me. And then I shouted at her that a Darcy would never do something so low. And then she said something about that abandoning someone was worse than cheating on them. And I yelled at her and she just shook her head and called for her car. And that was that.”

“But why are you so angry?”

“Because she's such a-” Will swore. “Bitch. How could she insult me in that way?”

“Do you care about her anymore?”

A pause, long but not excruciatingly uncomfortable, followed.

“No,” Will said. “No, in all honesty, I can say no.”

“She was paranoid? Unhappy with you?”

“I…..abandoned her somewhat, I must confess. But what did she expect from me? I have business appointments! I--I have work to do! It's not my fault.”

“That sounds like you're trying to defend yourself.”

“I'm defending myself justly. These are real reasons.”

“ Not really. Do you think you….you're…….”

“What? Spit it out, man!”

“Remember Katrina, and Helen, and Sarah, and now Dalia? And they all had the same problem with you, or similar enough. Do you think you're shying away from relationships somehow?

“I am not!” he said indignantly. But it was an automatic response. His mind was currently stuck in the past, looking back at a newspaper clipping.

Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Esq. died yesterday in a car accident. Their car was hit by a van at the intersection of Morris and Laney Road while en route to an important charity event of which he was the host. The van driver was not injured. Foul play is not suspected. A coroner's inquest will be held as a matter of course, in November. They have two children, Fitzwilliam (13) and Georgiana (10).

And then the court case. Aunt Rose had wanted to keep them away from it, but Will begged her for him to go. Some part of him wanted to go, to see the terrible person that had ended his parents' lives, intentionally or not.

“…call witness James Hopkins to the stand…”

A rotund, balding, short man stood up. His expression was humble and sad. Will had been hoping for someone disgusting and sinister looking, someone he could fix the blame on.

He took the requisite oath.

“You are James Isaiah Hopkins, age fifty-two?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are owner of a red van, license plate number 2F6T547?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you describe the events of September 22, 1999, when you were driving this motor vehicle?”

“I was driving to my mother's house. She was sick and I was going to bring her to the hospital. At the intersection, I made a left…. A left…. No, it was a right. A right turn,” he reiterated. “There was a car in the lane next to mine that was going somewhat off-course, into my lane…I thought it must have been some drunk bloke, so I honked my horn. But then my hand slipped on the wheel and I turned left and crashed into the car.”

“Thank you. That will be all.”. . . . . . .

As everyone was leaving, James Hopkins stopped at Will. “Was it your parents I crashed into?” he said.

And Will, glaring daggers, said, “Yes.”

And he said, “I'm sorry, lad.”

And Will shouted something along the lines of how could he say that and how much he had ruined his life. The whole crowd was shocked and moved away in haste. But Will thought about the look on Hopkins's face when he said that. It was horrible. He looked so unspeakably sad.

Will tried to apologize the next day, but Hopkins had packed up and left town.

“Will? Will?” Charlie waved a hand in front of Will's face.

“Sorry,” Will said slowly, abruptly coming back to reality. “You're…..right.”

“That's okay,” Charlie said brightly. “You just have to find the right person. Cheer up, mate. And speaking of finding the right person…..”

Will grimaced. “Don't tell me, let me guess. Your charming sister is throwing one of her brilliant balls, in which all the ball-heads will be gathered under one big roof and for an orgy of drinking and idiocy.”

“Not quite, it's a formal party. Which means it'll still be an orgy, but contained in dress gowns and suits.” Charles smiled wryly. “It is quite uncanny how you predict her parties every time. Anyway, all the eligible girls in town, and a few out of town, will be there, especially when I tell them you'll be there.”

Will groaned. “But you want me to do you one little favor that really doesn't seem so little, out-of-context. You want me to appear publicly with the incredible and brilliant hostess of the affair. You want me to go with Caroline, don't you?”

“Well…..” Charles paused awkwardly. “Well, yes. She's been begging, threatening, and trying to bribe me since she started planning the party.”

“Consecutively begging, threatening, and bribing, or randomly?” Will grinned. “Fine, I'll partner her and listen to her pointless chatter.”

“Thank you. No, really, Will, thank you from the bottom of my very heart.”

“Who'll you be taking?”

“This amazing girl, Jane. I met her a couple weeks ago and I am in love with her.”

“Does she return your affection?”

“To some degree, yes.”

“What do you mean, `to some degree'?”

“She's shy and doesn't express much, but I just…” Charlie smiled dreamily. “I just know she cares about me as much as I care about her.”

“Or maybe,” Will said cynically, “you're just projecting your affection onto her.”

“Always the negative one. Will, I'm sure of it, I'm really, really sure.”

But the seed of doubt had entered into him. And like most seeds, it could only be prevented from growing by a definitive, clear digging out, which Jane was unlikely to provide.

O0..0O

Netherfield Park, 2:00 p.m., Caroline Bingley's walk-in closet

“It will be perfect,” Caroline announced with smug overconfidence.

“What? What will be perfect?” asked one of her `friends', Tara. Caroline's `friends' were more like lesser copies of Caroline, like backup dancers on a stage, a time-honored spoiled princess Disney-portrayed ideal.

“The party, you idiot,” Caroline snapped. She kicked off her heels and sat on the comfortable pink velvet ottoman in her closet. Tara eyed the sole of the shoe. Manolo Blahnik. Of course.

Poor Tara, who was the only `friend' available to dump on and abuse today. The other four `friends' were taking well-deserved vacations abroad. Working for Caroline Bingley is very stressful. In many ways, when you consider the midnight calls, it's a 24/7 job.

“Do you think I should wear the deep-blue velvet dress with cross-stitching, or the light pink one with the real pearls sewn in?”

It might, or might not, come as a surprise to the observer that Caroline already had her heart set on the deep-blue one and was merely having a moment of doubt. If Tara had said her real opinion, “Disgusting bints like you don't deserve custom-made dresses,”, or that of the two she preferred the pink one, Caroline would have been angry and irritated, and replied that she clearly didn't know what she was talking about, and couldn't she see the blue one was best?

So Tara replied, “The blue one really brings out your…uh….” As neither Caroline's hair nor her eyes were blue, Tara didn't know what to say. Luckily, Caroline took it well.

“Yes, I completely agree,” she said with satisfaction, secure in the comfort someone, even if it was a pointless backup, agreed that the blue dress was better for her. “The blue is suitable to my skin tone and facial features.”

Skin tone! Tara thought mentally. Damn, I should have thought of that one!

“So who's taking you?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Fitzwilliam Darcy. You obviously know who he is…..”

Of course she knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. He was handsome to the point of total unfairness, was featured in Forbes's Top Twenty Earners Under the Age of Twenty-Five (he was twenty three), and with the body of a swimsuit model, according to a picture someone posted online. The thought didn't cross Tara's mind that he was valued only for these outward assets and that almost no one knew anything about his personality.

But then again, only shallow people would sign up to be one of Caroline Bingley's slaves.

“That dress looks unbelievably amazing on you,” Tara gushed in a half-hearted, insincere way. It really showed off Caroline's ridiculous chest size, which were in all probability the work of mankind and not Nature. Maybe that was the real reason Caroline was so obviously preferential to the blue one.

The dress was beautiful by itself, an amazing sapphire blue velvet floor-length with a hand-sewn silver-thread design, and would have worked on a more delicate face. Caroline was very good-looking, but in an indelicate way. But to quote Tara's thoughts as Caroline tried on the dress, at least The Bint is happy.

O0..0O

Jane Taylor and Elizabeth Bennet's apartment, the Kitchen, 2:00 p.m.

“So…..your new boyfriend is coming over to pick you up?” Elizabeth asked for what must have been the fifty-fifth time.

“Yes,”, Jane answered patiently. “And he is unbelievably cute and I am unbelievably falling for him.” These were meaningful words, coming from someone who was quiet, reserved, and polite (except when in the presence of her family, and best friend Elizabeth).

“Really.”

“Yes, really. He's hosting a formal dress party at his estate, Netherfield Park. And since I got a formal invitation, he says that even though he's going with me, he can slip you in as my plus-one. D'you want to go?”

“No,” sighed Elizabeth. “Why would I want to attend a party consisting of the elite, and thus snobbish, upper class system, who would nod politely once they know I'm not titled and ignore me for the rest of the evening?”

“Charlie's friends are nice, and generally likable. And if you don't want to stay the whole party, just stay for a little and leave. Besides, while the old, and therefore more snobbish, people are entertained in the parlor, the younger set will be partying it up in the ballroom. Please, please go, Elizabeth.”

“Oh. Well, when you put it that way..."

Jane looked hopeful.

"...No."

“Please?”

“Alright, if you can get me something decent to wear.”

“Evie from the artist's convention says she can get you a decent dress.”

“Store clerk by day, artist by night. How fascinating.”

“Oh, stop it,” Jane elbowed her. “Aunt Emma bargained somehow for something and got me a knocked-off designer dress but she didn't have time to get you one. The dress will hopefully make me look something close to beautiful.”

“But you are beautiful,” Elizabeth said, looking at Jane's soft blond hair and turquoise eyes.

Jane looked in admiration at Elizabeth's waves of sleek black hair and huge, dark eyes. “And you look like Catherine from Wuthering Heights.”

“You look like Isabella from Wuthering Heights, and she wasn't staid or dull or-”

“Alright!” Jane said in annoyance. “That's enough. Will you go?”

“I already told you yes, Jane, but absolutely nothing's going to happen, I'd stake my life on it.”

They laughed and chattered and generally talked about idiotic and useless things, unaware of the dramatic developments that would unfold that evening.

To put it shortly, if Fate decided to take her up on that bet, she'd be a dead woman.

Chapter 1

“Are you ready, Tara?” Caroline breathed. “And you, Will?”

The beautiful sunset, glowing golds and pinks and purples, stood before them, but they did not see it.

“As ready as I'll ever be,” Tara said, trying to put some cheerfulness into her voice and failing.

“Please, call me Fitzwilliam,” Will said irritably.

“Good evening,” Caroline greeted the arriving stream of guests. “How are you? So nice to see you. And how is your daughter? And your son Rathmill- he's still at Cambridge? Oh, I see. What a beautiful dress, Mrs. Wilcox. Designer Valentino? It is marvelous. Buongiorno, Signore i Signora Ciardi. Yes, parmesan will be served….”

Finally, she went inside, dragging Will with her. Her excuse was that she had to see to a detail, but Will knew they would be in the ballroom the whole night after dinner. He only hoped that once Caroline was caught up talking to other people and old acquaintances, he would find a welcome distraction.

The cloying smell of perfume in the rooms sickened him. Caroline really shouldn't have gone with rose sachet. He was allergic to rose sachet.

O0..0O

“Stupid damn party,” Elizabeth snapped as they got out of Charlie's Rolls Royce. “I can tell it will be terrible.”

“Oh, you never know,” Jane said brightly. She would have agreed with Elizabeth had she not been looking into Charlie Bingley's eyes the whole time.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and walked with them towards the front entrance. She was abruptly stopped by the butler, who demanded to know who she had come with instead of letting her in like the other faces he recognized.

The butler, a tall, thin, long-nosed gentleman, said in one breath, “Good evening, sir, Mr. Bingley. Your sister is in the ballroom. And you must be Miss Jane Taylor, and you are…?”

“Elizabeth Bennet,” she said. “I'm Jane's plus-one…..”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Bingley put you on the list an hour ago. You may go in.” He literally looked down his nose at her.

“Shall we go in, then?” Charlie asked. Once they were inside, he said, “I must apologize for Richard, Elizabeth; he knew you were with me, just didn't recognize you and had a snobbery attack. There are some people I want you both to meet, so if you'll follow me…..”

Elizabeth groaned inwardly. Jane turned around and smiled at her. “It'll be alright,” she whispered.

Elizabeth sneezed. The enormous ballroom smelled heavily of rose sachet. Oh no. She was allergic to rose sachet.

Charlie practically dragged them both by the pelts to meet one solitary guy, drinking some kind of unidentifiable substance, be it wine or champagne.

“This is Mr. Darcy, a fellow executive of mine. Will, this is Jane Taylor. And this is her best friend, Elizabeth Bennet.”

Jane shook hands with Will warmly. He nodded in a perfunctory kind of way. Elizabeth held out her hand. Will ignored her.

Or at least, she thought Will was ignoring her. In reality Will was preoccupied with some kind of way he could get out of the destructive grasp of Caroline Bingley, who was making a beeline for them.

“Charlie, there you are,” she said irritably. “I've been looking all over for you. I seem to have offended the Ambassador to Peru by saying something inappropriate. I tried to explain to the idiot that he had it all wrong but-”

She stopped short, having finally noticed Jane and Elizabeth.

“Caroline, meet my new girlfriend, Jane Taylor. Jane, Caroline. Caroline, Jane.”

Caroline smiled sickeningly, sugar oozing from her every word. “Jane, dear. Charlie has told me so much about you! I feel as if we are going to be such great friends. But he did mention you hated his hair- I'm so sorry, Charlie refuses to cut it shorter, I have tried everything, but alas, all in vain.”

Charlie, who was enormously proud of his hair and thought Jane liked it, was confused. “Caroline, my dear, perhaps the heat is getting to your head, I never said any such thing-”

“Neither did I,” said Jane, who was such a genuinely kind person she could not find fault in Caroline or see her ridiculously transparent manipulative scheming.

Caroline smiled again. “Jane, perhaps you could come with me, I know the Duke of Albermarle would be absolutely captivated by your lovely face…..”

Throwing a hard-gripping arm around Jane's shoulder, she steered Jane away from Charlie and turned her head around to see Elizabeth better. There was a split second of a look that wasn't understandable- that defied comprehension- then an arrogant head-to-toe glance that took in Elizabeth's long, unruly black hair and short dress that was quite obviously not expensive.

Elizabeth was fuming. What an absolutely disgusting- The rest of her thoughts just then would not be received well by the general public.

She shook her head, tapping her feet to the beat and looking slowly around the room, waiting for her radar to pick up on something to do.

Then she caught sight of Mr. Darcy. He was handsome enough, and it would be amusing to make him feel awkward by dancing with him. She was never one to think her actions through.

She strode over to him self-importantly. “Excuse me, Mr. Darcy,” she said, speaking to his back. “Would you like to dance with me?”

Without even doing her the courtesy of turning around (something that would have much changed the situation, had Elizabeth only known), he said, “No.”

Just `No'. No explanation, or even a polite lie. Even a rude answer would have been better than `No'. `No', for such a short word, meant so many insulting things. Like that her inferior birth and unknown status meant she would never be deemed even human by this class of people. It meant she was not even worth turning around to look at. It meant that no matter what she accomplished in her life, it wasn't worth anything because she was born into a lower class of people.

Elizabeth is furious. And when she gets furious, she gets even more rash and impulsive. She decides to make a fool of herself dancing anyway, just to shove the caste system back in their faces. So she sees a man in the corner. He is shabbily dressed, but handsome if you don't count his thick lips. And he looks pliable enough- he looks like he's been having a few drinks. So she goes over to talk to him.

His name is George Wickham. He tells Elizabeth he imports goods. He neglects to tell her he imports drugs, stolen jewelry, and illegal weapons. He also tells her he used to be part of an elite club, but got kicked out after he didn't conform to their rules. He forgets to mention it was the Mafia and that he double-crossed them, and was lucky to have escaped with his life. This and other half-truths he tells her, and Elizabeth, with her sore heart and pounding anger, believes him and asks him to dance. He heads to the dance floor with her and they strike up what the other couples are doing- a stately waltz. But Elizabeth turns her anger into energy for dancing and she is exceptionally good. George is an elegant, if negligent, dancer and together they make an excellent couple. Soon all eyes are on them. Including Will Darcy's.

She's beautiful, he thinks, even as his gaze says, `Trash'.

I'm going to ask her out after the dance, he thinks, even as his gaze says, `I'll date her when Hell freezes over'.

What?? She's dancing with--that can't be Wickham. How could he have the nerve to show up here? After what he's done to my family… even as his gaze says, `Congratulations to the happy and atrocious couple'.

“Mi hermana esta muy simpatica,” Charlie stammered out to a rotund man Will could only suppose was the Ambassador to Peru, using his grade-school Spanish. “Ella…did not…mean…to…erm…how you say? Offend…tu.”

“Charlie,” he hissed, grabbing him from his conclusion to his apology to the Ambassador to Peru, “who is that?”

“That's Elizabeth Bennet,” Charlie said amusedly. “You know, the one you completely ignored in your urge to think of ways to escape Caroline?”

“Oh.” Did she…was she the one who asked me to dance?

“Do you want to ask her to dance or something?”

“I- no.”

“Of course not,” Charlie sneered. Sometimes his best friend's stupid pretensions even annoyed him. “Just go, and hurry.”

“What? Why hurry?”

As the waltz finished, a crowd of men came over, all with one question on their minds, the same one Elizabeth had asked him. Oh.

“Dinner is served!” Caroline announced in team-coach style, her voice as loud as if she had been using a megaphone. Not something very much in keeping with her gentle-lady personality she tried to communicate to people.

He caught sight of her as Caroline announced dinner, and came closer to her. “Miss Bennet? May I reserve the dance after dinner?”

“I don't know,” she said sarcastically. “I believe you ignored me when I was introduced to you, so let's try the introduction again.” She held out her hand, and he shook it.

“So…..would you like to?” he asked again.

She paused for a second, in mock deliberation, putting her hand to her chin in an exaggerated imitation of thinking hard about it.

“No,” she said, throwing his word back at him in a cutting, if childish, manner.

He stood there, trailing in her wake, as she slipped a hand into George Wickham's and went into the enormous dining room.

O0..0O

He couldn't get her off his mind, something that was not made improved by his place card being stuck betwixt hers and Caroline Bingley's. While Caroline sticks to him like glue, Elizabeth does the exact opposite. They are such contrasts, now that Will is able to see them side by side. Caroline is very handsome indeed. But somehow, her personality wears itself out on her face and the effect is not quite pleasing. Elizabeth, in addition to looking better, wears her personality on her face too, and it enhances her looks.

“So, Fitzwilliam,” Caroline laughed, “tell the Duchess that joke you made about European imports.”

What? I never made a joke about European imports in my life. Oh. Wait a minute. She's lying and wants me to improvise. Okay. Here goes.

“Well, my dear duchess,” he began, “there was a captain of a ship called…uh……” The only name he could think of was Elizabeth Bennet, so it slipped out. “Elizabeth Bennet. And her co-captain was…erm….” Suddenly the name George Wickham came up in his mind. “George Wickham. And…..” He suddenly, terribly, realized he was addressing the whole table, which was staring at him in confusion, especially Elizabeth, whose eyes were stretching to their maximum potential and whose mouth was a round O. “They were very angry at each other, because of the effect of global warming on the economy and the subsequent stock market deflation in America. And…they…erm…bargained it out. The end.”

The Duchess's thoughts were obviously written on her face. That's a perfect example of inbreeding gone awry. “That was quite amusing,” she stammered. She managed a few mechanical laughs.

Caroline quickly covered the moment by announcing that she was ready to make the toasts. She stood up and clinked her spoon against the glass. “I would like to start,” she smiled falsely, “by announcing Mr. Darcy's Aunt Catherine's recent marriage to Sir William Chalmers two days ago. May she live with him in good health, prosperity, and happiness.”

Everyone clinked glasses with each other and somehow, after the chatter had resumed itself, his insane joke was forgotten- by all but two people: the one on his left, and the one on his right.

Elizabeth, on his right, was further enraged at him. That bastard! Getting back at her refusal by embarrassing her in front of everybody!

Caroline was not stupid, and had an especial knack for sensing when a young man was in love, and with whom. And Caroline sensed a person more suitable for Mr. Darcy than she was, could, in fact, be perfect for him.

Obviously, she would crush her as soon as possible and by any means.

After the dinner, the younger set headed to the ballroom to dance and drink, both to unhealthily obsessive degrees, and the older set adjourned to the parlor, to laugh and gossip about London society and a new one added to the list: Do you think Mr. Darcy has a streak of insanity in him? Well, Mrs. Tares, can't say exactly, but I do know his mother used to wear the oddest dresses. Yes, Lady Garfield, and don't forget the time his father showed up three hours late for that concert……

Caroline's other `friends', Susan, Frieda, Iris, and Lispeth, according to their stories, had arrived late in Heathrow Airport and literally run for a taxi, giving the driver an extra hundred dollars to get to her mansion. In truth, they had delayed their return for as long as possible until they finally remembered that Caroline's super-important party event was tonight. Then they were specimens Einstein would have taken great pleasure in studying, as being faster than the speed of light.

“Well, you're in luck,” Caroline said smoothly, disguising her annoyance. “We just finished dinner and all the important guests are still here.”

“We heard you hooked up with Fitzwilliam Darcy,” Susan said excitedly. “Did you? Did you? Did you?”

“No,” Caroline said irritably, “and shut up, Susan, because I've been busy leading everybody to believe that is so. And we might still have a shot at it if you keep your damn mouths shut! If you overturn two months of costly diplomacy with Charles, spill my secret, and ruin my reputation, I swear, I will take you down with me. In fact, I'll pin you down so hard, you won't have a whole bone in your body!” Caroline's contorted features were made rather comical now because in her anger, her red lipstick had somehow smudged into her front teeth.

“You said Orlando Bloom would be here,” Iris whined, holding her fan at a precarious position and gazing at the door longingly as if she tried hard enough, the door would magically spit Orlando Bloom forth. “And he isn't. And I really, really wanted to meet him.”

“I said Orlando Brown, not Orlando Bloom. Besides, what would a lowly actor be doing in the upper echelons of British society?” Caroline snapped. “And pick up your fan.”

Frieda yawned. “What does `echelon' mean? And can I have an eclair?”

“They're in the kitchen. Go there and stay there.”

“Really?” she gushed. “Will the cook teach me how to make cookies? I always wanted to know how to make cookies.”

“He will also teach you a recipe for Being Thrown Down the Social Ladder,” Caroline said cuttingly, but as usual, her sarcasm was wasted on her IQ-0 friends.

“I've never heard of that before. Sounds delicious! I can't wait!” She rushed off in the direction of the kitchen.

Caroline sighed. “I suppose you are the only one I can rely on, Lispeth.”

“What? Lispeth said blankly. “Did someone call my name? Who died?”

Caroline shook her head and went in search of Will.

O0...0O

“Miss Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth turned around sharply. What was Darcy doing here? “I beg your pardon? I was just about to go into the garden alone and uninterrupted.”

“No,” the voice stammered. “No, no, for it is I who must beg your pardon. I did not see such a fair flower in my future.”

Elizabeth frowned. This didn't sound at all like Mr. Darcy.

A tall, pasty white, and enormously fat figure emerged and stood next to Elizabeth by the huge, moonlit window down the corridor from the ballroom. “I am Mr. William Collins, your second cousin,” he explained. “I believe your mother mentioned me once or twice? I was much lauded in the press for my elegant sermon in defense of the Catholic Church……”

“Oh,” Elizabeth said finally. “Yes, I remember now, the little newspaper clips in the corner of the Community Service section of the paper.”

Mr. Collins looked rather offended. “Well, my current employer said she just knew the press was breaking down my door just to get to me,” he said. “Perhaps you have heard of her? Lady Catherine, recently married to Sir William Cholmley…..”

“Oh,” Elizabeth said again, remembering the toast at dinner. “Yes, but I'm not acquainted with her in any way. But if her nephew is any judge of her character,” she snapped, suddenly remembering Mr. Darcy's behavior, “then she must be a ridiculous, stuck-up, inbred, aristocratic little…” She mimed choking someone with her arms.

He was taken aback, and more than a little scared that a Bennet would express her feelings in such a manner. “Oh, no,” he hastily corrected, “she is a wonderful woman, really. She always listens to my sermons in the most attentive manner, and praises them in the highest-” he stopped to lick a thin trail of spit that was currently dripping down his chin- “words I have ever heard her use.”

“Well,” Elizabeth was at a loss as to what to say, “uh….congratulations.”

“Thank you very much, Miss Bennet,” he smiled stupidly, “thank you very much, but I must be getting back to my discussion now. Until next time.” As if she had asked him too many questions like an eager fan and he had been generous enough but now really must go.

“Yes,” Elizabeth waved vaguely, “Until next time.” Which can wait for a couple years, trust me, she added mentally.

O0...0O

I should probably get back to the ballroom. But on the other hand, a walk in the garden would be nice.

The dimly lighted pathway wasn't much good in terms of vision. But she didn't care. The fresh air smelled so good after that damn rose sachet. Her high heels clicked on the pathway.

The dim light cast a warm glow on the flowers and trees in the forest in the distance. She felt utterly at peace, something she missed in London. She remembered her childhood in the small house on the farm, and how she loved the nature surrounding it. She pushed her arms back behind her in a stretch that would have seemed very odd to the casual observer.

Then her primitive instinct kicked in at precisely the wrong moment. She sensed another creature coming out of the shadows of the forest. Goosebumps crawled out of their hiding-holes on her flesh.

Something was wrong. She heard footsteps. Or were they the predatory steps of a wild animal?

Don't be silly, she thought irritably to herself. What would a wild animal be doing in the civilized British countryside?

It's still countryside, and accidents happen, an evil voice in the back of her brain whispered.

Oh no. The footsteps were coming closer. She decided to step forward and brace herself for the inevitable blow…

And collided with some kind of body. She screamed.

“Miss Bennet, I had no idea my features were so frightening. Perhaps Caroline Bingley, in her haste and last minute preparation, pasted a mirror on the pathway, which you looked into and saw your reflection in, thus causing you to scream.” The amused, well-bred tones of Fitzwilliam Darcy hovered above her.

“Oh,” Elizabeth said, in too much relief to digest the insult. “It's only you.”

“Yes, sorry to disappoint,” he laughed, “but no, I am not a wild animal.”

“Really? Judging from your mannerisms…” Elizabeth let the suggestion finish itself.

Then she realized how awkward she was making the situation and stood silently, looking at him in a pseudo-apologetic way.

Will actually thought she was looking at him with the greatest scorn, but he ignored the comment. “May I escort you inside?”

“You may not,” Elizabeth said irritably, having finally recovered her composure.

“May I inquire as to what you were doing outside?”

“Again, you may not.”

Will raised his eyebrows, interested that she was not interested. “Good night, Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth could think of no suitable retort. “Yes. Whatever.” She turned on her heel and marched back toward the door to the garden.

She marched purposefully into the corridor to the ballroom, then stopped halfway as she realized how ridiculously she was walking and came into the ballroom in a normal walk.

She saw Jane from afar, laughing and talking to Lord Cumnor. She ran towards her (insofar as it is possible to run with slippery high heels on).

“And he said….” Jane whispered something in the ancient gentleman's ear. His prominent blue eyes grew to the size and shape of a very large circle.

“Oho!” he said merrily. “Then he was flirting with you! I remember his father from World War Two, when I was just a lad and him two years older than he and a soldier besides! Nice chap, although too friendly for his own good…..”

Elizabeth grabbed a side of Jane's dress, snagging it in one place. “My lord, could I borrow Jane for one moment?”

“Of course, of course, Miss…..”

“Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet. Jane,” she hissed, “we need to get out of here, now.”

“But why, dear?”

“Because of that wretched Mr. Darcy man. He ruined the whole evening for me. He insulted me publicly and privately. We have to go, now!”

The urgency of Elizabeth's voice moved Jane to action. “Alright. But I have to say goodbye to a few dozen people first.”

O0...0O

Charlie drove them home, laughing and talking with Jane, who was a bit too lightheaded from so much champagne and laughed tipsily with every word he said. Jane was completely focused on Charlie. Charlie was completely focused on Jane.

And as they reached the lights of London, Elizabeth found her thoughts straying to Mr. Darcy. He was so revolting, and there was something about him she couldn't understand, even with her bright mind and intellect, and it made her angry. What right had he to make her so confused? And George had told her all about how when they were young, Darcy was jealous of him because his father favored George best! And cut him off without a penny! And embarrassing her in public! And laughing at her on the pathway!

Luckily I will never see him again, she thought.

Elizabeth seems to have extremely bad luck whenever she plays Future with Fate.

Monday Morning

“And d'you know what he says to me? Do you?” Elizabeth took out her fury on the red pepper she was dicing.

“I can't even begin to guess,” Jane said complacently, dicing mushrooms with not half so much anger and doing rather a better job.

“He says, `No'. Just `no'.” She waited for Jane to explode with wrath. All she got was raised eyebrows and a slightly open mouth.

“I mean, can you believe that? `No'?” Elizabeth tried to push Jane to temper point.

“He didn't even, like, acknowledge you in any way?”

“He did not! And then he started his conversation again with some kind of commissioner or other. He is just a disgusting-”

“Alright dear, so maybe he's not one of Charlie's better friends.”

“He's his best friend!”

“Charlie is….”

“A nice guy,” Elizabeth said impatiently, so caught up in her anger that she hadn't realized she was done with the red peppers and started dicing the chopping board, “but Jane, he's too nice for his own good.”

“In my defense,” Jane said rather coldly, “so am I, according to you.”

“Oh, don't get that way, Jane. I think you two are good for each other. What I mean is, how could such an amazing man like Charlie be best friends with Darcy?”

“His name is Fitzwilliam, Lizzie, and he was rather polite to me and came over after dinner to talk to me.”

“He thinks highly of you because anyone can see you're a saint, Jane. Unlike the rest of us poor mortals, who have to bear the brunt of his scorn.”

“Elizabeth, don't you think you're overreacting, maybe just a little bit?”

“I am not--NOT--overreacting!” Elizabeth's final stroke sliced the chopping board in half.

“Good one. Throw it away, I'll get the eggs.”

Elizabeth took out placemats, two forks, and two dishes, slapping them down on the table as if they had committed some horrible crime. “And then he has the gall to ask me to dance!”

“Did you say no?”

“Do you think I said yes?”

“Not really.”

“Exactly!”

“Look, Liz, you're starting your new job today. Charlie's an executive at the company, and he'd promised he would set you up well. If you keep worrying about Fitzwilliam-”

“Darcy.”

“What-ever. If you keep worrying about him, he will ruin your day. You will never see him again, so what difference does it make?”

“I know.” Elizabeth stared gloomily into her tea cup.

“I'm going to the studio on the Square today, and my cell phone isn't working, so if you need to contact me, call them up. But I'll probably stop by at your office anyway at about midday, because Charlie's taking me to lunch.” Jane dropped an omelet on her plate and on Elizabeth's, and sat down. “At Sheri's.”

“No way!” Elizabeth said excitedly. “That was on the `Top Ten Best Restaurants In London' listing when Zagat Survey took a vacation to England. Lucky. I only get a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.”

“Well, you'll do fine,” Jane said, not picking up on the humor of one best friend having a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich while the other dined at a ludicrously expensive restaurant. “It's a good intern spot. You're going to be assistant to an important executive! That's got to mean something. And you know Rothman Technology corporation is one of the highest ranking in the world.”

“I know.”

“It's okay,” Jane smiled, and finished the remains of her omelet. “I have to get to the studio and destroy Evie's stash of drugs before she gets there, so see you.” She grabbed her coat and purse. Elizabeth grabbed her respective belongings and hastily changed into her nicest business uniform- a white blouse and black pencil skirt, and gathered her hair into a bun.

They ran down the stairs, talking as they did so.

“But I thought she works at a department store during the daytime. Wasn't she the one who got me the dress?”

“She does. But she always slips by for a morning pick-me-up, and it's destroying her career. I mean, how would you like to be greeted by a wasted store attendant when you go to the mall?”

“Actually, I would hate it.”

“It was a rhetorical question, but whatever.” As they reached the sidewalk, Jane hailed a taxi. “Have a good day.”

“Yeah, you too.” Elizabeth smiled and waved as the driver sped off, hailing a taxi in her own turn.

“Where to, miss?”

“Rothman Technology Corporation. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes.” As the driver talked on and on about his new child and his harassing stepmother, who had just moved in (and bore an uncanny resemblance to Caroline Bingley), and Elizabeth nodded politely, interjecting “Oh”s and “I see”s at the right moments, she found her thoughts inevitably straying to Darcy. He was disgusting and rude and loutish. But she was trying to figure out what it was about him that eluded her comprehension. There was something about him she couldn't understand. And instead of making her feel less inclined to hate him, it made her feel the opposite way. Even in her thoughts, he harassed her, ruining her first day of work.

Well, at least the sun's shining. Even as she thought it, the clouds shifted and covered out the sun. How fitting.

Elizabeth got out and paid the driver, and, feeling rather guilty for not really listening to him, gave him a generous tip. “Thank you, miss,” he said. “Good luck on your first day.”

“How can you tell it's my first day?” Elizabeth asked curiously.

“You have that look on your face….Best of luck.” He smiled and drove off.

I'll need as much luck as I can get, Elizabeth thought seriously. I'll bet this job will be very stressful.

Score one for Elizabeth versus Fate. It will be.

O0...0O

Elizabeth walked up the imposing marble front steps, her most expensive (and thus, not-so-expensive) pair of shoes making an annoying clicking sound. She saw the back of an impressively curly head of hair that looked familiar.

She caught up with the curly head and peered at his face. It was George Wickham.

“Hi,” she smiled. “Do you remember me?”

“Sorry?” He sounded, and looked, seriously stoned.

“Elizabeth. Bennet. From the party on Saturday?”

“Yes,” he replied, looking more at her chest than at her face. “Yes, I….” He scratched his head. “Actually, I don't. Wait, you were the hot brunette I talked to?”

“Uh….” Elizabeth looked into Wickham's foggy hazel eyes. “I suppose so.”

Wickham gave her a huge, sloppy grin.

Elizabeth frowned at him. “I- Well, see you around.”

“Yes. I will.” He saluted her as she opened the door hastily.

O0...0O

Elizabeth was directed to the Orientation Room by an amiable security guard, where a plump and very harried-looking woman officially welcomed her and another girl in the corner with gothic makeup and chewing a green bubble, looking like a very out-of-place high-schooler.

“Welcome to Orientation Day,” she said nervously, and cleared her throat several times. “Are you two the new interns?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth answered.

“Whatever,” Goth girl answered slowly.

“Okay, so I'll need you both to sign these two forms-” She took two packets of paper out of her briefcase. “They're consent forms stating that the company is not responsible for any accidental physical injury that includes broken bones, herniated discs, or bitch-slaps.”

“Bitch-slaps?” Both girls laughed together.

“Well, one sister of an executive has been known to administer them. Accidentally, of course”

Obviously Caroline Bingley, Elizabeth thought amusedly. They signed the requisite forms and were directed to the sixteenth floor.

On the elevator, Goth Girl spat her chewing gum out into the garbage can and shook hands with Elizabeth. “Hi, I'm Charlotte Lucas,” she said warmly, with an American accent. “You are…?”

“Elizabeth Bennet. No offense, but-”

“Why am I dressed like this? I believe that society is turning us into mindless clones, waiting for the right mind-control alien to come along and zap artificial intelligence into us. Lucky I'm prepared and dressed like this, huh?”

Elizabeth nodded slowly. She noticed how Charlotte's makeup and odd clothing was completely at odds with her kind of manly features. Thin lips, small, pinched eyes, completely generic nose. But she radiated a kind of mental energy that was not at all unattractive.

“That's….interesting,” she replied. “Who were you assigned to for internship?”

“Oh, Charles Bingley. He's actually my second cousin, so he lets me dress like this.” She gestured to her striped, cheap T-shirt, jeans with gaping rips in them at the knees, and yellow flip-flops. “Who do you have?”

Elizabeth opened her portfolio and started to sniff it, catching herself just in time. “Sorry, I just love the smell of manila folders,” she apologized.

“That's cool,” said Charlotte amusedly. “I like it too, but I usually don't smell them.”

Elizabeth looked through the papers, eventually finding the one that said the executive she was assigned to.

YOU ARE ASSISTANT NUMBER 3.

YOU WILL BE ASSIGNED TO MR. FITZWILLIAM DARCY, ROOM 56 ON FLOOR SIXTEEN.

Elizabeth shook her head to clear her mind. Surely she had gotten her thoughts mixed up with the paper and thought it said Fitzwilliam Darcy.

She read it again. …..TO MR. FITZWILLIAM DARCY, ROOM 56.….

She read it again. MR. FITZWILLIAM DARCY.

She felt sick.

O0...0O

“To get to the root of it, gentlemen,” Will said impatiently, banging his fist on the table, “the reason our stock is plunging is because-”

“Do you want coffee?” the head gentleman at the table, a man so round one could envision rolling him down the street like a bowling ball, said hastily. “I'll get an intern to get some coffee for us. Is that alright? Eh?”

“No, it most certainly is not,” Will said crossly. “The reason our stock prices are plunging is because the economy in America is-”

Soon afterwards, a medium-tall brunette came in with ten coffees on a tray, holding the tray up so that it covered her face. “Oh,” the head chucked, “there it is. Set the coffee tray there and put mine right here, that's good…..”

But the woman would not put down the tray.

“Excuse me, madam,” Will said irritably, “but could you just set the tray down here and then give it to…”

He trailed off as the tray slipped from her hands and fell to the floor, crashing the cups and splattering a rather gruesome mess of brown liquid all over the expensive sheep's-hair-colored rug.

But that wasn't what surprised him.

There was a girl standing before him, cheeks burning an unimaginable color of red, with scared huge eyes and a very silly expression on her face. It was Elizabeth.

Elizabeth sat in her office, working furiously on registration for a prototype model. She was good at this kind of thing.

But now, she wasn't.

She'd thrown out three forms already because she'd messed up on some minor detail. She felt sick to her stomach.

She tried another form. Registration Number 0010102.

No, that was wrong! It's 0010103. She moaned and crumpled it up, throwing it into the wastebasket.

She stopped. Maybe she was hungry. Her stomach was empty, but she felt like it would regurgitate anything that came into it.

She couldn't take the pressure. Hunger was a plausible excuse.

“I'm going to get lunch,” she said to no one in particular, earning the pointed glares of Mr. Darcy's secretary. She fished a couple of dollars out of her purse, and took the elevator downstairs.

The elevator opened up on the fifteenth floor. Will stepped in.

It was an unbelievably awkward silence. Will simply looked at Elizabeth. Elizabeth glared at him in confusion and anger.

“So,” Elizabeth said coldly, “are you going to just stand there and look at me like I'm an unpleasant patch of fungi obscuring the elevator, or perhaps make a half-hearted, insincere apology?”

“No,” Will said just as coldly, “no, I was going to make an irrelevant comment about the weather and ask you how your day is going so far, not that I would particularly care.”

Elizabeth gripped the elevator bar with both hands, leaning lightly against it as though it was a casual position, although her nerves were so taut she thought she would scream. “And then, I suppose, you would think I would say something about it going amazingly well for a first day, and how I met such awesome people, and gush to you about one of them in particular- a person you've never met, and would deem unimportant if you did.”

“Correct. Then I would ask you how you like the corporation so far, and, regardless of your real opinion, would say something flattering in a futile hope to make me give you a promotion.”

“Wrong. It is not in my style to flatter those whose heads are so big from that particular disease that they would explode with any more flattery. And if you think so, I am afraid you are very much mistaken about my personality.”

“I am afraid you are mistaken about mine.”

“Really.” Elizabeth's lip curled unpleasantly. “One of the mistakes about your personality, Mr. Darcy, is that you misunderstand everyone else's. I have nothing more to say to you.”

Will inclined his head sharply. “Then as we are done with our hypothetical conversation, perhaps you would allow me to step out of the elevator without a cutting goodbye comment?”

“Why certainly.” Elizabeth smirked. “Have a nice day.”

As Will walked closer to the front doors, he allowed himself one look at her retreating figure. Her high wavy black head carried itself with a dignity rare even in those noble, inbred circles he lived his life in, and he wondered if she was not in some way related to royalty.

She's got a pretty good title, Will. She's Queen of Your Heart.

O0...0O

“Hello, Will dear,” Caroline smiled ingratiatingly as he sat down at the restaurant table.

“No need to be formal,” Will said sarcastically. “Caroline, how many bloody times to I have to tell you to call me Fitzwilliam?”

“Well, then, Fitzwilliam, I just wanted to know if you will be able to come to my next big party of the season two weeks from Saturday. This one is at my mother's mansion. It's in Lincolnshire.”

“Yes, I know where it is,” sighed Will. “Look, Caroline, I really don't have time for much talk. I really must get back to work and-”

“It is called a date,” Caroline whined, in a manipulative (and successful) attempt to make Will ashamed of himself. “And you did ask me to lunch here. And I was counting on you to regale me with something funny, and turn this foggy day into something sunshiny. And illuminating. And-”

Will raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat. “Ahm. Well, one of my interns tried to hide her face from me, resulting in her trying to balance the coffee unsuccessfully and spilling it on the floor…”

He drummed his fingers on the table and smiled mechanically.

Caroline studied his face intently. There was something underlying going on, something she was trying to pick up on. She had only seen him this distracted when thinking about…

Could it be…

Will nervously readjusted his tie. “Well, you had to be there.”

“What's the name of the intern?”

“Oh. Well, I can't tell you. Classified information, you know.” Will emitted a mirthless chuckle. “Thank you,” he said hastily as the waiter arrived with the menus. “Caroline, what kind of wine would you-”

“It's Elizabeth, isn't it?” Caroline's eyes narrowed to slits.

She decided to play the anger card. Will, she knew, didn't wish to offend her for gallantry's sake and because he couldn't bear to isolate his friendship with Charlie.

“I beg your pardon, Caroline, you must be mistaken, there isn't any kind of wine named Elizabeth-”

“You hired her? That impudent little bitch?” Caroline's voice was the stuff of horror movies.

“I didn't hire her,” Will said angrily. “Your brother did.” As soon as he said it, he realized his mistake. Caroline would axe-murder Charlie as soon as she saw him again. “I mean--I did.”

“No you didn't!” Caroline's voice reached shrieking pitch, making a `scene' in a very public, and tasteless, way. “I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU! YOU SHOULD HAVE GATHERED SUFFICIENT INFORMATION ABOUT HER PERSONALITY AT THE PARTY! SHE IS- SHE IS-” She paused to catch her breath. “AN OBNOXIOUS SLUT. I THOUGHT YOU HATED HER! YOU SHOULD HAVE DISMISSED HER THE FIRST TIME YOU SET EYES ON HER IN THAT OFFICE!”

By now, the whole restaurant was staring at her in an obviously outraged way.

It was a part she relished. “WE ARE THROUGH! THROUGH! YOU SICK BASTARD!” She grabbed her Chanel clutch angrily and strode furiously out of the restaurant.

Will stood up, gaping at her like a fish out of water.

Then again, Caroline's sulking was a beautiful excuse to steer clear of her for a few days. He smiled in appreciation and walked out of the restaurant.

Maybe Elizabeth's not terrible for my life after all.

Elementary, my dear Darcy.

O0...0O

Elizabeth's gorge rose in her throat and her heart best abnormally fast. Her mouth was dry, so dry.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hopkins,” Will said negligently. His eyes fell on Elizabeth.

She looked at him slowly, blinking those long eyelashes and her black eyes so intense it would be enough to shie away anyone with a weaker glare than Will.

But Will looked. And-

Will knew what he wanted now; he just had no earthly idea how to get it.

In conclusion, Love is the greatest humbler. It set Will at zero even with all of his billions and his hot looks and his infinite air of choosing women like they were dolls in a store made just for him.

And you'd better believe Fate enjoyed his discomfort.

“I mean, she's here!” Caroline shouted. “I thought I'd seen the last of that wretch at the party. I'd never thought she would-”

Caroline stopped as she realized none of her girls were listening. Tara was in the corner of her closet, sitting in the elaborate Louis Quince chair and staring into space. Lispeth was reading a magazine on the ottoman. Susan and Iris were gossiping about something. And Frieda was sleeping on the carpeted floor, gripping Caroline's dog in such a position that it had peed on her face. And she still hadn't woken up.

A kind of ache filled Caroline then, a loneliness that no one seemed to understand. She was insanely rich and considered good-looking. She could do anything she wanted, within the limits of reality.

But what is money? An illusion. If a man in prison with stale crusts, sometimes nothing, to eat and no bed to sleep on can be happy, and Caroline Bingley, with her beautiful clothes and gourmet chefs and humongous mansion and huge canopy bed with silken sheets cannot be happy, then it proves money is worthless.

And looks? The head jock of the school with those fascinating eyes will be magically transformed thirty years later into a potbellied man who stinks of beer. That gorgeous head of hair will wilt and bald. The beauty of those eyes will be unrecognized when they are set in a fat, aged face, like two raisins in oatmeal. He will shrink and grow as wide as he is tall.

And brains? Does intelligence, especially the type Caroline has, the kind that notices that the buttons on another woman's coat proclaim a better brand than hers and hastens to spill something on the coat, make one happy?

These thoughts flash through Caroline, but they are all fully realized by her, as she screams at her friends.

She looked at them. “GET OUT!”

They were shocked and scrambled to their feet. “What? Caroline, what's your problem? What did we do wrong? Did we offend you?”

Suddenly, without warning, Caroline's eyes became very watery. Caroline blinked back tears furiously. She prided herself so much on not crying. She had worked so hard to maintain the reputation the tabloids called the `Ice Princess', the cruel girl with the world at her feet and literally everything and oh, how unfair it was that such an evil person could get all of that.

But people are only mean if they are unhappy. A person from a secure, loving home has no cause to be mean, and so he or she is not. A person from a troubled, imbalanced past is unhappy and projects it onto everyone else.

Caroline shook her head as water dripped out of her eyes. I will NOT call it the t-word, I will NOT call it the t-word… Aloud she said, “Just-”

They looked at her slowly, waiting for her response.

“Just get out,” she sighed, her voice cracking midsentence.

They hastened out the door into the hallway. Only after the last of their footsteps were gone did Caroline permit herself to cry in earnest.

She leaned against the Louis Quince chair for support. The rigidity of the chair only served as a reminder that she could only rely on material things.

Suddenly, inexplicably, she picked up the chair with the physical strength given to her born of anger. Its fragility almost warned her it was an antique and she couldn't throw it, it was too valuable-

She hurled it against the wall with her two hands, leaving a dent in the formerly perfect-pink shade.

Suddenly she felt very weak and sat down on the ottoman. “It's so unfair,” she said shakily aloud. It felt good to finally voice her true feelings. Unfortunately it also made her cry harder. She looked around desperately for a tissue. There was none.

She did her best to dry her tears and stop the mucus from coming out of her nose with the back of her hand, like a little child.

Then she heard the butler's loud call from downstairs. “My lady? Lord Darcy to see you.”

“Show him in,” she warbled in a voice thick with emotion, trying to talk loud enough to be heard.

“I beg your pardon, madam? I could not hear-”

“On second thought, tell him to wait a moment,” she shouted down, finally able to resume her commanding façade. “I will be down directly.”

“Very good, madam.”

Caroline hurriedly put on an expensive receiving gown and her family's heirloom necklace, did her best to cover up the mascara tracks that slid down her face and reapply makeup, and walked down just like she usually would, donning her mask of the Perfect Society Girl.

“Fitzwilliam?” She collected her wits enough to remember she was supposed to be angry at him.

“I'm in the parlor,” he said quietly.

Caroline's cheeks burned with shame. How could she stand there in the front like an idiot, instead of going into the parlor and receiving Will? “I beg your pardon,” she sad softly. “I am quite out-of-sorts today.”

“Of course.” Will and the butler answered simultaneously.

“You may go,” Caroline told the butler sharply.

The butler bowed and walked out.

Will stood up, swinging his arms absentmindedly. Caroline faced him.

Will was the only thing she had now. He could control her, keep her from breaking down like this again. And his strong personality would guide hers, once he fell in love with her.

It was stored somewhere deep in the back of her consciousness that she was doing the wrong thing, that it would lead to her ruin and misery, that Will couldn't really make her happy, that they were absolutely unsuited for each other. But she pushed it out and forgot the events of the afternoon.

He must fall in love with me. He's mine. Caroline's conscience lost the battle, as usual.

She began forming plans in her head. First, I must get him to fall out of love with Elizabeth Bennet.

To do that, I must make sure she will either move (unlikely, with Charles there) or get her to completely spurn his advances to such an extent that she will never talk to him again.

To do that, I have to alter her perception of him.

Then she realized she was forcing Will to stand uncomfortably. “I'm sorry, Fitzwilliam. Perhaps you would like to sit down?”

“Yes, that would be nice.”

“Tea?”

“Oh,” he started. “Oh, no thank you.”

“Coffee? Anything?”

“No,” he said bluntly. “Listen, Caroline, about today…” As he rambled on about saying things he didn't mean while saying things he didn't mean, Caroline realized it was better not to forgive him all at once, but to slowly and steadily cave in.

“Well,” she said `grudgingly', “I will consider getting back together with you. I was caught up in the heat of the moment when I declared us through.”

“So you'll…stay with me?”

“Yes, Will.”

“Fitzwilliam.”

“Fitzwilliam.”

“So…would you like to have dinner at my house?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Good. Dinner's at eight. I'll see you at home.”

Caroline smiled and waved. “See you.”

As one may or may not know by now, whenever Caroline smiles, one should be frowning and wondering what exactly she has planned.

Will drove his car into the long, gray-graveled path that formed an elaborate loop around a huge fountain and formed a path to the back gates of the mansion.

A man came out of the awe-inspiring double doors and hurried to climb in and drive his car to the garage.

Will trudged up the front steps and entered the door that the servant had conveniently left open for him, his cares disappearing as he looked into the beaming face of his sister.

“Will!”

“Georgie!”

“I know I was expected a day later. Would you calm Mrs. Reynolds? She was so very agitated when I showed up on the doorstep, and started shrieking something incoherent to Molly about `bachelor's' housekeeping and `guest-appropriate' housekeeping. The more I tried to soothe her, the more upset she became.”

Will laughed. “I'll do the best I can.” He finally took notice of the baby carrier in Georgiana's hand due to its owner bursting into tears. “That's Calvin?”

“No, that's the CPR dummy I stole from my First-Aid Workshop the day before I went to LAX.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.” He and Georgiana sat down on a sofa in the foyer and passed Calvin to him.

Calvin's features had an uncanny resemblance to that of his father's, and an unspoken word of regret lingered in the air. But his very blue eyes were his mother's, and the jawline was unmistakably the Darcy jawline. And suddenly, Will forgave him for being born and under such circumstances. Georgiana did not regret it. And now, neither did he.

Their peace was interrupted by a loud and irritated war-cry.

“I WILL NOT TAKE ANY IMPUDENCE FROM YOU, RICHARD! YOU MAY BE THE BUTLER BUT THAT DOES NOT CHANGE THE-” A plump, grey-haired woman ran into the foyer, in the middle of yet another power struggle of her and old Richard.

“Miss Georgiana!” they shouted together. “And is that Calvin?”

Amidst the hugs and cooing over Calvin and fighting over who was to hold him, Will slipped out of the foyer into the parlor, where the cell phone reception, oddly enough, was much better. He had just come up with an idea.

He dialed Caroline. “Hello? Caroline, are you there?”

Will heard the distinct sound of a hairdryer being turned off. “Yes, Fitzwilliam?”

“Yeah. Listen, I-”

“You're not going to cancel, are you?”

“No, not at all. I need an assistant over here at Pemberley.”

“Oh, really? Who?”

“I- I- ” As his personal code of chivalry prevented him from lying, especially to a woman, Will was at a loss as to what to say.

Something in Caroline, though most assuredly not good, went through her and she said, “It's okay. I understand.”

“Thank you. See you at dinner.”

Will went back into the foyer and laughed and talked with Georgiana and the rest, with an untroubled conscience and absolutely no worries about the evening.

O0...0O

Caroline turned her phone off. “Tara? Too much hair gel. And Lispeth, the pale pink is far too ruddy. And Susan, I look like a haunt. Reapply the base, and choose a darker color.”

She'd agreed with having Elizabeth there because she needed to shine next to her. And with the right makeup, which Elizabeth never wore, she could look dazzling. It was inevitable Will would compare them sooner or later, and Caroline preferred to have it out with her sooner and sent that impudent flat wretch back to the slums of London where she belongs.

And as for clothes? Caroline scoffed mentally, staring at the mannequin on which her custom-made dress hung. Elizabeth didn't stand a chance in that area.

And at least I can flirt with men. Elizabeth treats them like merely extra people to talk to. She couldn't attract a man if she tried.

Caroline felt something uncomfortable within her, something that was trying to warn her she was creating a delusional world for herself. But she ignored it and continued ordering the girls around.

With the feeling in her heart she was being bought, bought for a custom-made dress and Pemberley and being allowed to appear in public with an obsessively gorgeous man at her side, Caroline shook her head and adjusted the curlers in her hair.

It was time to implement Part 1 of her master plan.

“Iris? Give me my cell phone. I've got to make a couple calls to a couple of people.”

O0...0O

Will closed the secret door to the study. “What is it you wanted to tell me, Georgie?”

“I…don't exactly want to tell you..”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

“I won't explode at you.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I-” Will swore- “promise!”

“I'm pregnant again.”

Will breathed in and out, getting faster with each successive turn, in almost a parody of meditation.

“Will-” she whispered.

Her eyes sought his appealingly. “Will, you promised you wouldn't explode-”

“Who said anything about exploding?” Will's voice was unnaturally calm, his struggle evident in his wavering tone. “I'm not-” He ground his teeth. “-exploding. Who's the father?”

“My new husband.”

“Your HUSBAND?”

“Will, you promised you wouldn't explode.”

“I'm sorry, Georgie,” Will said, sitting down uneasily in the antique Victorian reading chair. “I didn't mean it. I'm just so worked up about everything.”

“Tell me, Will.”

“We'll get to it. It's just that…I just got over the shock of Calvin, and now…”

“Speaking of Calvin's father, where is he?”

“They're still after him, but in all probability, he'll never get any punishment. He insists you were willing to…”

“I see.” Georgiana paused for a while, thinking.

She finally sighed, “It's not that I want revenge on him. I wish he felt some regret is all.”

“So,” said Will, suddenly very, angrily interested in her new man, “tell me about your new husband.”

“I'm sorry, Will. We were terribly drunk and somehow we got married and all I remember is waking up in my flat with an earsplitting headache.”

“Tell me, how does one get married while stone-dead drunk?”

“Um, actually, we were conscious when we did get married, although heavily confused, but I forgot and passed out and Margie drove me home.”

“Do you want the marriage annulled or do you care about him?”

“I love him.”

“You love him.”

“Yes.”

“This is coming from the same girl who declared undying passion for Charles Bingley five summers ago and the girl who professed herself to be madly in love with…him.”

“But Will, it's different now. My feelings for Sam are more-”

“Oh. Sam? That doesn't sound like a name with any family background behind it.”

“Will you let me finish?” Georgiana hissed. “My feelings for Sam are more genuine. I don't just love him for his looks. He is like me.”

“And you're sure he's not acting this way just to get to your money? Does he know you're insanely wealthy?”

“Yes, he knows.”

“And you just expect me to stomach this? The chances are ridiculously tipped in the direction that he doesn`t care.”

“Well, then, I'm willing to take that chance. If Sam is really after my money, logically he would make me unhappy. But I have been so purely happy with him since I started dating him.”

“And you're sure you're pregnant…”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Will said awkwardly, “congratulations.”

“Sam's staying in a London hotel for now. Can he come tonight?”

“Tonight's not good. I've got a dinner with Caroline Bingley.”

“Oh, that wonderful example of a human being.”

“Yeah.”

Then, after a moment of reflection, “Do you care about her?”

“She has immaculate taste, breeding, and is definitely handsome. And she is healthy enough to sufficiently continue the Darcy family line.”

“Stop assessing her like a new household appliance. She doesn't deserve you. Find another woman you can actually be happy with.”

Will stood up and looked down at the ancient carpet depicting a pattern that was rather inappropriate if one looked at it at the correct angle.

“Don't tell me there's no one? No one you've found more worthy?” Georgiana pushed gently.

Will's features looked strained. “No. No one.”

Georgiana knew Will was hiding something from her, but also knew instinctively that this was not the time to ask him about it.

“I have to go check on Calvin,” she said, rising to her feet. “See you around.”

As she carefully closed the heavy secret door, she caught a glimpse of Will sinking deeper into the chair wearily, passing a hand through his hair and engrossed in thought. So there was someone.

O0...0O

“Hello?” Elizabeth spoke tentatively into the phone.

“Lizzie!” greeted her mother, a little too enthusiastically. With only one girl at home and two far, far away from her, it was impossible for her not to get ridiculously obsessive over the phone or otherwise. “Hi-how-are-you-how's-work-and-did-you-find-anyone-to-marry-or-fall-in-love-with-or-even-just-date-and-did-you-know-Kitty-told-me-she-found-an-amazing-guy-in-college-and-”

“Can I talk to Father?”

“Yes, but he might not be in the mood to talk to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He got fired, Lizzie.”

“What?” Elizabeth could not believe it. “But he works at a different branch of the same company. Surely I would have heard-”

“Why don't you talk to him about it,” moaned Mrs. Bennet. “One would think your father would have more respect for my poor nerves. They are in absolute shreds, Lizzie. All he talks about is bills and finding another job. It is boring me terribly, and in addition to the quelle horreur of it all, I won't be able to buy an umbrella to compete with that of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's next door! And I just know she will flaunt her umbrella in that obnoxious way she has, all finely turned out and with that new Size Two figure- Liz, I could swear she had liposuction done-”

“Can I talk to Father now?”

“Oh. Yes.” Elizabeth heard vague sounds of Mrs. Bennet setting the phone down on the coffee table and screams of, “LYDIA! NOT THE SALT, I SAID CAYENNE! YOU IDIOTIC-”

“Hello?”

Her father picked up just in time. “Elizabeth. How are you?”

“How are you? I just heard….”

“Yes, well.” Elizabeth heard her father sigh deeply, expressing more true feeling in that sigh than there was in Mrs. Bennet's whole list of complaints. “It was very quick, just this afternoon. Our college funds for Mary and Kitty were steadily depleting even before this, and with your mother and Lydia clamoring for the latest designer clothes and whatnot I am at a loss as to how we will eat.”

“Father, I'm sending home some of my salary this month, it should help-”

“Elizabeth. Don't do that. It's not fair to you, and I know how low your starting salary is-”

“I want to. Please, Father, please-”

“Not now,” said Father irritably. “Tell me about Jane and work.”

“Jane's fine. She's actually dating one of the executives, Charles Bingley. My work is atrocious due to the fact I'm under the command of a certain arrogant bastard by the name of Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

Elizabeth's father said nothing, and Elizabeth gathered he was about to tell her something important. “Father? Are you there?”

“He was the one who wanted me fired,” he said noncommittally. Then, as Elizabeth accidentally hung up in shock, “Elizabeth? Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth stared at the window, not really seeing it but Will in sheer amazement. He'd taken his hatred of her out on her father.

Then…fury. Plain fury. Anger that he would sink so low, and the sensation of something hitting her so hard she could not recover for a while, perhaps forever.

“She's so mean…yet so attractive.”

-Fred, on You Tube

“Mrs. Reynolds?”

She came in. “Mr. Darcy?”

“Will.”

“Yes.” She smiled, yet managed again to evade calling him Will. “What is it you want me to do?”

“Can you do me a big favor and get Robbie to check the Internet for the London listings for Elizabeth Bennet? Get her phone number?”

“Of course. ROBBIE!”

A young, large-eared, pimple-covered underling came in. “Mrs. Reynolds?”

“Look up the London address of Elizabeth Bennet. On the double! Nay, on the triple!”

He huffed, shifting his unpleasant weight from one board to the other. “On it.” He ran to the kitchen, where a hidden laptop was conveniently placed.

He came back a few minutes later, phone number in his hand. “Here you go, sir.”

“Thank you.” Will dialed the number on the smooth, cream-colored old telephone he had had modified to work like a modern one. He tapped his foot impatiently, wearing a groove on the wine-colored carpet underneath his feet.

Elizabeth, please pick up. Please pick up.

“Yes? Who is this?” A deep, pleasant voice answered, although not the one he expected (and wanted) to hear.

“Jane? Sorry. This is Will. Can I talk to Elizabeth?”

“Sure.” He heard Jane put her hand over the phone, then a muffled, “LIZZIE! PHONE FOR YOU!”

“COMING! Hello, who is this?” came the shrewish voice of his growing attentions.

“Mr. Darcy,” he said. “From work. I trust I am in your mind.”

“Don't flatter yourself,” she said crushingly.

“Anyway, I need you to come to my mansion this evening. We need to discuss File A from the second batch of file drives, make sure they`re up to scratch.”

“Can't we do this at work? Unlike the person on the other end of the phone, I have a life.”

“If you want to remain in this industry, I expect you to sacrifice it for us. Otherwise, you could try our competition across town; I hear they are hiring janitorial staff.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“My pleasure.”

“So…”

“Yes?”

“I suppose I'll come, since I can't get fired.”

“Do you know how to get there?”

“No, how should I?”

“It's a historic spot, you know.”

“Um, no, actually I didn't know, and if your family lives there I would happen to have a supreme disdain for it.”

“It's a good thing you never met my grandmother.”

“I beg you pardon?”

“Nothing. I'll send the directions to your computer, which I trust you have?”

He heard a faint click…

…Then that long, droning low note that phones make when you're the only one on the line.

“….Miss Bennet? Hello?”

She'd hung up on him! The impudence of that woman!

It was a technique that none of the society women chasing after him had ever tried on him. But it proved irresistible.

O0...0O

The taxi dropped Elizabeth off at the enormous double gates of Pemberley mansion.

She stood there, outside the wrought-iron bars, completely at a loss as to what to do. She tried banging on them with her fist (with enormous injury to the fist in question). She shouted, “HELLO??”

Luckily, a servant spotted her and pressed the combination inside to open the gates.

“Thank you,” she said hastily. “I'm Elizabeth Bennet, I'm supposed to meet Mr. Darcy, I…”

The servant stared oddly at her. Evidently she was quite out of place here, with her faded skirt and old cashmere sweater. He, at least, blended in with the elaborately and neatly designed hedges, gardens, rolling green slopes, and absolutely gorgeous mansion behind him. He was wearing an expensive tuxedo and his hair was very, very neat. Elizabeth itched to stomp her foot on those hedges, uproot the grounds, and pull the hair out of that dismissive face. But as it was, she could only stand there, swinging her arms lamely.

“I'll see what I can do,” he sighed wearily and then walked so quickly, Elizabeth had trouble keeping up. “You're not an obsessive fan, are you?”

“No.”

“Do you have proof?”

“You'll just have to take my word for it.”

The man stopped, eyes rolling irritably. “I see you are carrying a briefcase. May I see your employee identification?”

“Sure,” Elizabeth said, with honeyed sweetness. She dug around in her wallet for the I.D., and, by some stroke of luck, found it. She gave it to him.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “Very good. Here you go.” He gave it back to her and resumed his crazy walking pace of before, leaving Elizabeth trailing in his dust.

Elizabeth was led into the foyer and from there to the parlor, a large, mint-green room with black-and-white tiling and velvet, Victorian furniture. It was beautiful. Unlike Bingley's, which was tasteful enough but always seemed to be lacking a certain depth and quality, it had a quiet elegance that did not force itself on you.

“Should I sit down?” she asked hesitantly. “I mean, if you-”

“Do sit.” He did not even offer her refreshments, a definite sign she was considered unimportant.

She sat awkwardly and watched the sunset from the enormous windows.

It was relaxing, but Elizabeth's cashmere sweater was prickling her terribly. She was desperate to take it off, but her tank top underneath was quite low-cut. She debated herself in her mind. Well, the sweater looks nice but it is absolutely murdering me. And it's not like Darcy cares how I look; he's dating Caroline Bingley. I guess I could take it off; it's not like anyone but Darcy is going to see and disapprove of me.

She ran quickly to the foyer, where a coat-rack(mahogany, and polished to an unbelievable shine) was standing, and deposited the cashmere sweater.

She made it to the couch just in time as Darcy came through the front door. He was greeted obsessively by the housekeeper and butler, unlike herself, and was asked several times if he wanted refreshment, which he declined.

He put his (much better-looking, and real leather) briefcase on the coffee table. “Miss Bennet,” he said politely, staring at her revealing top.

Elizabeth blushed. He thinks it's slutty! Oh no! I should have worn the sweater…. Too late, I guess.

She cleared her throat. “I, erm, uh-”

“What?”

She opened up her briefcase and took out File A. “Do you…want to start reviewing the prototypes?”

“No…I'm okay with them. I actually found out we can wait on those, actually it would be better if we pulled them out next week. The company who assembles those is merging with another one, and the political climate is less than accommodating.”

Elizabeth didn't have the faintest idea what he was saying. She doubted he knew what he was saying either. “Well, I guess I can go home then…”

“Ah, no, actually Mrs. Reynolds can give you a tour of the house if you like.”

“I'll pass.”

“No, really, I need you to stay. Caroline is coming over for dinner and-”

“You don't need me for that,” she snapped, brow furrowed. “What the hell are you driving at?”

“I beg your pardon?” No one, not even the most forward people or the most outraged workers, cursed at Fitzwilliam Darcy the Third in his presence. Oddly enough, he wasn't that angry.

“Why do you need me here?”

No plausible excuse occurred to Fitzwilliam, except more work. “Get to work on the registration sheets for the company outing next week, okay?”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Okay, whatever you say…”

She worked in silence, scribbling away. Will fidgeted and paced up and down and she even caught a glimpse of him biting his cuticles. I thought he was with Caroline. If he likes her, why is he so…on edge? And not like a young man in love, like a prisoner waiting for a death sentence.

“So, on edge about Caroline Bingley at all?”

“No. Why would you say that?”

“Your evident discomfort, perhaps?”

“That's romantic discomfort.”

“Funny, you never struck me as the romantic type.”

“I-” Will stopped short as he realized he didn't have to explain anything to her; he was on the top level of the company and she was a lowly intern. “This is not a company-appropriate topic!”

Someone rang the doorbell. Will nervously adjusted his tie in mid-stride and went to open it. “Caroline! Come in. Do sit down.”

She smiled, doing a 360 on the spot to show off herself. Her hair looked immaculate but somehow fake, in an updo, and her face was heavily made up. Her gorgeous dress outlined her ridiculously proportioned figure (courtesy of Daddy) and her high heels were so high and thin they could be used as lethal weapons. In short, she looked like a whore in a bar, except in better quality clothes.

She was pretty, even beautiful, and her eyes shone with a light rather attractive, but Elizabeth had a natural grace and very striking combination of features that made Caroline really look like a whore in a bar. Especially with the orange eyeshadow, red lipstick, pink blush, etc.

“Will, I was waiting the whole day for this moment, and now I'm here,” she sighed contentedly.

Will cocked his eyebrow in a way that assured Elizabeth he didn't believe a word she was saying. He led Caroline to the camel-colored sofa and sat her down, then sat down himself. “Would you like any refreshments, Caroline?”

“No, thank you.”

At this moment, Georgiana came downstairs, her emerald velvet dress accentuating her golden hair. Although it must be confessed her features were otherwise entirely normal, her hair was so silky and gold, like a Princess Aurora in Sleeping Beauty, one itched to touch it or even just look at its bouncy, glossy texture. It looked like a million dollars.

“Georgie! Where are you going?”

“To get Sam.”

“What do you mean, `to get Sam'? I told you I can't meet him tonight.”

“You have to. He needs to fly to his parents in the Philippines tomorrow.”

“He's Filipino?” Will snapped, his hereditary disdain for minority races showing its ugly head.

“Did I say that? No, I did not!” Georgiana exclaimed indignantly. “I just said he has to visit his parents in the Philippines; I said nothing about him being Filipino.”

“Is he?”

“Well, maybe…” Georgiana teetered on the subject.

“I cannot believe you! Our parents must be turning over in their graves this very moment!”

“You know they never believed in all this disdain for minorities. Father picked Mr. Harvey, a native African, to run a whole branch of the company over our cousin Reggie! Don't you tell me about what our parents bloody wanted! And if you're so desperate to know, you can shoot yourself and go and ask them!”

Then she noticed Caroline and Elizabeth, jaws so wide open they could well have been dislocated by now, eyes stretching to the sizes of huge circles. “I, um- that is to say, I, er-”

Caroline was the first to recover. “Georgiana! A pleasure, as always. Such a pity you missed the Netherfield ball- did I tell you, the Ambassador of Peru was there as well, and I told him the most charming story about you when you were a child-”

Georgiana glared at her. “Did you really? I must hear it some other time when I am not preoccupied. Perhaps the next millennia is suitable for you?”

Caroline was seething inside, but knowing how very precarious her position as Will's girlfriend was, smiled and said, “Oh, Georgiana, how intelligent of you! Lord knows I could never figure out what that meant. A real genius. I do believe it runs in your family, having now met you and being with your brother and meeting Lady Catherine De Bourgh Cholmley…”

“Goodbye,” Georgiana sighed. “I'll be back in an hour or so, Will. Mrs. Reynolds is attending to the…erm…charge…in the nursery.”

“Yes, of course.” Will shook his head. “I need to check on the…charge…in the nursery, make sure…it's…okay.”

Caroline and Elizabeth? Together? Alone? Pull out your hazmat suits, this is going to be a roughie.

O0...0O

Caroline called for tea. Once it had arrived, she set the cup on the table without even touching it and released her red manicured grasp on it. “So, Miss Eliza Bennet.” She looked her over like a used car, assessing its looks, how much she had been conned in its appearance, whether it could go even five miles from the parking lot.

“So, Miss Carrie Bingley,” Elizabeth mocked, folding her arms on her lap and crossing one slim leg over the other in a scarcely concealed mockery of the woman in front of her, taking liberties at calling her by a common nickname as Caroline had done her.

“I am so glad I can finally come into a better acquaintance with you. I saw you at the party, and I thought it odd an intern had come to the party, but then I watched you dance, you really stole the spotlight with Wonderful Wickham, and I was just dying to talk to you but alas, the duties of a hostess never stop.”

“I comprehend, ma cherie,” Elizabeth smiled. (Remember, it only takes 45 muscles to smile!)

“Well, you wouldn't, really,” Caroline laughed. “I envy the few in my social circles who have no grand houses or fancy flats to attend to, no lavish balls to plan. Housekeeping on such a small scale must be nonexistent really.”

Elizabeth ground her teeth. Did she just insult me by heavily hinting I was dirt poor? Um, yes. “Well, personally, I find balls and parties frivolous, filled with guests as empty in mind as their champagne glasses are in drink levels.” Take that, whore!

Caroline's mouth curled sardonically. “Well, you've only been to a dress ball that is essentially rather informal, so fortunately your experience is quite little. I know parties where all the guests are entirely intelligent, despite the champagne, of which you have never been to.” And never will go to, not while I've got breath in my body.

Will came back at that moment, lucky for both of them. “How'd it go?” he asked in a perfunctory way, knowing full well it went rudely and atrociously.

“Wonderful!” Caroline gushed.

Elizabeth said nothing and bent her wavy black head over the files again.

“Look, Caroline, I'm sorry, but our private dinner may not be so private if Georgiana, Miss Bennet, and Georgiana's husband come. The other two dining rooms are under reconstruction.”

“That's alright,” she smiled. “Then we can all get to know each other!”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Can I go home now?”

“No, sorry. Miss Bennet, I need you for File A after dinner. You can dine with us.”

“Must I?”

“Do you value your job security?”

“If you keep condescending to me in such a way, no, I won't!”

As Caroline watched Will and Elizabeth storm off into the dining hall, snapping at each other, she realized the situation was dangerous and could result in social ruin if she didn't do something, fast. For if Fitzwilliam Darcy, insanely handsome, wealthy billionaire, and with an old English title, knelt before a woman and asked her to marry him, what woman in their right minds would say no?

We'll see. We know at least one woman who would.

They followed Mrs. Reynolds to the large and elaborate dining hall, with beautiful French double-doors that opened onto a grass slope of a hill. The ornate, perversely shiny Victorian parquet floor worked almost like a mirror, giving Elizabeth the chance to check her face. It had a tinge of red in it, which irritated her.

They sat in three of the center chairs, arranged much like at the ball in Netherfield: Elizabeth at Will's left, Caroline at Will's right.

Caroline started to talk first. “Fitzwilliam, dear,” she said, laying a white gloved arm on the shoulder of his meticulously tailored suit, “sweet Miss Eliza to your left has been entertaining me so much. We met at the Netherfield ball, you remember.”

Will and Elizabeth sat in stony silence.

“And she is uncommonly fortunate to have such little housekeeping! In these harried times, I can barely remember what it feels like to wear…casual…clothes.” With a pointed glance at Elizabeth's old, rather ugly skirt and low-cut tank top. As if by `casual' she meant `old and ugly'. Which she did.

Elizabeth sighed. “I rather think it ridiculous to overdress for a small, informal occasion. For instance, a tiny dinner party with one person.”

“Well, if that person is extremely important, I think it necessary for that someone.” Caroline smiled sweetly, winning the argument.

Elizabeth suddenly noticed Will staring at her so intensely and rather rudely that she hurried to cast her head down, looking straight at the table as if it was the most important thing in the world.

Caroline threw a tantrum mentally, banging her fists on the walls of her brain, and shrieking, What did that trash do to deserve my Will? He's staring at her like the walking example of a lovesick schoolboy. It's disgusting! But aloud she said, “Will, do you think I could come with you on the company hike?”

“Sorry,” Will said, again shifting his gaze to Elizabeth, “I've already booked the site and the number of people.” Elizabeth knew this was a lie. The site could support up to a thousand more people than the company was bringing.

“And besides,” Elizabeth said spitefully, “I thought you hated casual clothes.”

“Oh, I do, but only the kind the lower class wears.”

“You go too far!” snapped Elizabeth, temper at her breaking point. “I am sick of your rude and manipulative ways, Miss Bingley, and I will tolerate none of it.”

Caroline was shocked into quiet.

Will stood up. “I entreat you, Miss Bennet, to stay. I am sure Caroline's remark was not directed at you.” A lie that no one believed, but that they all swallowed.

Elizabeth took a long breath and sat down.

It was a long and uncomfortable silence that followed. All three jumped when Georgiana, Sam, and the servants entered with dinner.

“We're home,” Georgiana said cheerfully, her and Sam taking seats across from them. “Will, this is Sam.”

Sam was tall and broad-shouldered, with caramel tan skin very tight across his face, thick black eyebrows, and very intense black eyes. His hair was short, but not ridiculously so.

He looked rather fierce until he smiled, revealing straight white teeth. “Good evening, Will.” His accent was British.

Will disliked Sam's plain T-shirt and jeans, and obviously was not comfortable with having his sister wedded to the close descendant of some `wild barbarian chief', as his thoughts put it, but he didn't force Sam to call him Fitzwilliam, or Mr. Darcy, a definitely good sign. “I suppose my sister will be taking your surname, then, which is…”

“Alao. Did Georgiana tell you?” Sam asked brightly. “We're expecting a daughter in February. And we're moving to a loft in central Los Angeles.”

“That's, erm, good. To your left is Miss Bennet and to your right Miss Bingley.” Sam shook hands with both of them. As you may have predicted, their responses were in direct contrast to each other.

“Call me Lizzie,” Elizabeth smiled.

Caroline raised her eyebrows coldly, glaring at his simple clothes and her eyes lingering unpleasantly on the inexpensive wristwatch on his hand.

Elizabeth got a phone call. “Excuse me while I take this,” she said, stepping out of the room.

The second she got out and went to the parlor, Caroline started criticizing her. “How very rude, taking a call in the middle of a formal dinner,” she snapped, Elizabeth's outburst still ringing in her ears. “And she keeps glancing at us unpleasantly, as if she despised us all.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “She seemed pleasant and amiable to me.”

Caroline cast a contemptuous look at him. Then she suddenly remembered he was Georgiana's fiancée, and sighed pseudo-regretfully. After all, being rude to him could ruin her chances at Will. “My dear Sam- Samuel. I didn't mean to criticize; Elizabeth and I are fast becoming friends. It is merely that she has these odd- shall we say, quirks- that annoy me occasionally.”

The shift was so quick no one could understand the illogic of this position. Caroline herself found her words ridiculous.

Sam nodded. “Well, we really have to get back to London. I don't know if Georgiana mentioned this, but I need to catch a flight to visit my parents…”

“Yes…she mentioned it. Thank you. Goodbye, Sam, Georgiana.” They smiled and headed out, Georgiana coming back to hug Will.

“How sweet,” simpered Caroline. “So touching. A true romantic. Georgiana, you do seem to have inherited your brother's sentiment. It is one of those endearing qualities I recognize and love so much in my dear Will-”

Georgiana threw her a look that shut her up.

O0...0O

Elizabeth pressed OK, and various background noise filled her ears crudely. Damn, she needed a new cellphone. The old one was breaking itself and her ears.

A definite bad sign: In the background was `Nine Crimes' by Damien Rice. Jane's sad song.

“Jane?”

She heard a nose being blown like a trumpet. “Elizabeth?” Jane's voice was shaking.

She'd never heard Jane's voice shake before. In her most extreme moods it retained composure. Even when Jane's father got cancer and came close to death (yet survived), Jane never showed more than a `I hope he's okay'.

What agonies of torment was Jane going through now?

“Jane. Jane?”

“Elizabeth-”

“Calm down. Take a deep breath. Then tell me what is going on.” The words Jane would usually say to Elizabeth, being the tempestuous whirlwind she is.

She could hear Jane breathing heavily. “Charles-” Her voice faltered.

“Charles?”

“Charlie. Charlie Bingley. He came to see me for a five-minute visit in which he told me stiffly he found no regard for him in the way I acted and that he was breaking up with me.” Jane burst into crying yet again.

“Jane,” Elizabeth said gently. “Jane. It will be alright. It will be fine. I'll be there very soon. I promise.”

“Elizabeth…” Jane's voice was blurred and miserable.

“I really have to go now. `Bye.”

She managed a smile as Sam and Georgiana came through the hallway. “Where are you two going?”

“To visit his parents in the Philippines. Part of our honeymoon.”

Elizabeth watched them go. She sank down in the hallway, tears obscuring her vision. How could Charlie break up with Jane? Just yesterday he professed himself to be madly in love.

Then- Wait a minute. Charlie is the type to be influenced by people- Who would- DARCY?

The idea popped into her head but somehow, instinctively, she knew she was right. It was Darcy.

But she couldn't add this to her list of complaints against Darcy unless she had proof.

She heard Miss Bingley and Darcy talking. She crept against the wall to hear, knowing they might whisper confidences to each other that she would not have the privilege of hearing were she in the room.

“Caroline,” came Will's flat voice, “I told your brother to go to Miss Taylor's this afternoon. He has officially split from her and you have nothing to worry about.”

“Correction,” laughed Caroline. “We have nothing to worry about.”

“Well, correct.” Then Will leaned in and kissed her.

Caroline's face was one of pure ecstasy. Will looked like the groom on the night of an arranged marriage.

Elizabeth shook her head. Tears spilled out of her eyes, as much as she willed them back in.

Darcy…she hated the name. Before she had immensely disliked it, even through her father being fired, but now- now, it was not dislike. It was hate. And anger. And that atrocious feeling that she could still not fathom, that bothered her intensely.

“Caroline?” Will said gently. “I have something to tell you, although perhaps the parlor is more suitable for this conversation. Would you follow me to the parlor?”

As if in a daze, Caroline numbly followed him, his hand guiding her along. Her heart was pounding in anticipation. Was it the much-feared breakup? Perhaps the `talk' about how she had behaved to Sam? Or was it- perhaps it was- Caroline wondered if she would become pregnant, or perhaps he would use-

Will gestured to the sofa. “Please, sit down.”

Caroline nodded nervously.

“Caroline, I know our time together has been short, although we have known each other for almost our whole lives. But I would like to make you an offer of marriage.”

Caroline's eyes widened. Even she had not anticipated this so very early in their courtship.

Will took this to mean she was ready for him to go on.

“Caroline, would you do me the honor- the very great honor- of being my wife?”

Will saw a very soft light in her eyes. At least she cared for him. Perhaps the marriage would not be terrible.

“Yes,” Caroline stammered, forgetting entirely to be cunning about it, and keep him on edge, or make him nervous by deliberating. “I accept.”

“It's done, then,” nodded Will. “We'll be married two months later in the Pemberley Cathedral. I trust you can take care of the wedding arrangements and all that?”

“Of course.”

Something is twisted about this, she was thinking, ideas racing in her mind. He is proposing to me, yes, but with the clean-cut lawyerly precision he uses for signing business contracts. I have no claims on his heart.

Unbidden, the image of that impudent young girl- that what's-her-name, Elizabeth Bennet- flashed before her. Would he propose to her in this way?

Obviously he would never propose to her, her level-headed half reassured her.

But hypothetically speaking. Would he propose to her like this?

Caroline gulped. Of course he would! she snapped. But she knew the answer. It was screaming in the land of her subconscious, screaming to be let in to the gate of her consciousness, pounding on the door and yelling so loudly she could hear it in the faint echoes of her consciousness. But she did her best to shut it out.

“Well, I really have to get home,” she said. “This has been- amazing.”

Will smiled- rather mechanically, her eagle-eyes noted- and produced a box from his pocket. “How could I forget? The ring.” He handed it to her.

Caroline opened it up. Inside was the ring that had just a week ago been lying in the British museum. She should know. She had eyes and ears. Besides her own.

It was a really beautiful thing, slim and graceful, made of silver with an aged, dull sheen to it and a large, although not large enough to be showy (The Darcys never did anything showy), diamond set with two smaller diamonds to its left and right set into the ring. Engraved on the back was the family motto in painstaking script.

Caroline tried to fit it on.

Now is a good time to give a discourse on the characteristic Bingley family traits. First of all, they all have long, aristocratic, defined noses a little wide at the nostrils. Second, they all have long, golden eyelashes. Thirdly, they have disproportionately large feet. And most importantly, they all have stubby fingers. Yes, that is the answer to the society columns' questions about why the Bingleys do not have a single pianoforte in their entire establishment. It is because their fingers cannot span even three-quarters of an octave on said instrument.

It didn't fit.

Caroline's eyes welled with tears as she almost destroyed the centuries-old family heirloom. She sobbed like a small child.

“Will,” she gulped, as tears ran down her cheeks, thus causing her mascara and eye makeup to smudge and her foundation to wash off, “Will, it doesn't fit. What am I going to…” she blubbered.

She wondered if Will would reprimand her for calling him Will. Luckily, either he didn't hear it or he had the tact not to mention it. “It's okay, Caroline,” he soothed her, like a father to a child. “I'll get it stretched and added on.

“Oh.” Caroline swayed her head back and forth.

“Well, I will see you tomorrow at breakfast, at our official engagement party, and at dinner? I have booked us at The Angels' Tavern.”

“Yes. I-”

Caroline was about to say something, but she almost didn't understand what, and anyway it was late. “Goodnight, Will.”

“See you around.”

After Caroline left, Will moaned and sat on the couch gingerly, as if afraid of breaking it. He knew instinctively he had done the wrong thing. He would have no problem with her if someone had not come between them. Even in their most intimate moments, Elizabeth stood between them like a force. He could feel it in himself and he could see it reflected in Caroline's eyes.

He disliked Caroline. Not hated her…she was too unimportant to feel anything extreme towards. She was shallow, vain, and really rather stupid. He could not respect her enough to hate her, or love her, or even feel any friendship towards her.

He knew who he wanted. He wanted Elizabeth. Thinking about her came as naturally to him as breathing. Her radiant reflection, the personality that matched him perfectly in some ways and stood directly opposite to him in other ways. She was like no one else he had ever known.

Maybe the real reason he had proposed to Caroline was because he knew he could be in control of her all the time. Caroline obeyed him as if she were his lowest servant, whereas Elizabeth could make him do anything for her without so much as lifting her finger. For a man who was accustomed to command, who had the whole world at his feet, who barked out orders as naturally as if it had been ingrained into him, it was not a comfortable position.

But he could not help himself! It was so frustrating! He couldn't help but think of Elizabeth. It was unfair. It was a serious reality check that he was not ready to put into his life account.

Maybe I can make Elizabeth jealous… And propose to her. I think it could be done.

He then proceeded to lie on his back and come up with something, scheming for so many hours he lost track and then falling into a troubled and restless sleep.

O0...0O

“SSSSHHHHIIIITTTT!” Elizabeth screeched as she saw the time on her alarm clock, calling the concept of Time every horrible name in the English language. “Oh no- I'll be so late- Jane?”

Jane was gone for work, and had left a hasty scrawl on the refrigerator which showed the harried state of her mind. Jane's writing was neat and beautiful, and always, always slowly written.

Elizabeth toasted a bagel, scorching her fingers in the process, and ate it too quickly, scorching her tongue in the process. In the cab to work, she spotted an idle page of a newspaper and scanned it through quickly.

She found society columns entirely unmoving, and her opinion was not bettered by the announcement in the corner.

FITZWILLIAM DARCY AND CAROLINE BINGLEY ENGAGED

Fitzwilliam Darcy, of Pemberley Estate, and Caroline Bingley, of Bingley Manor, announced their engagement today at an exclusive breakfast party this morning. The young couple, fairly bursting with love, happily declared their whirlwind courtship to have a successful and much-anticipated ending. They are expected to marry two months later at Pemberley Chapel. Although the couple has known each other since infancy, they have only recently begun dating and according to our exclusive interview with Caroline Bingley (see Page 53), Fitzwilliam was so swept off his feet, he proposed shortly afterwards. See next week's version for more juicy information about our favorite couple!

Elizabeth tossed the page aside scornfully. Fitzwilliam Darcy didn't know the meaning of love, would never experience it. He moved through life with a cold, orderly precision, an inhuman calm. So different from everyone around him- from his sister, even.

He was handsome, it was true, and Elizabeth, as his intern, had realized the true extent of his wealth, larger than the most insane guesses had dared to go. But Elizabeth was intelligent enough not to be impressed by these qualities.

Although he was very, very handsome, and there was that off feeling towards him. Not, certainly, love, but something awkward, like perhaps he was not the cold machine she supposed him to be-

O0...0O

After work, Elizabeth sat in the worn grandfather chair at the apartment, idly rereading (for the millionth time) her favorite book while Jane knit a suit for her new nephew. “Jane, are you going out tonight?”

“Yes. Another intern, Brent Dawson, asked me out and I said yes. Do you want to come? It's at the Angels' Tavern.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I…guess. Wait a minute. Can I bring a date?”

“Who'd you have in mind?”

Elizabeth smiled mischievously. “Someone. I'm sure your date will love him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Is Brent interested in clergymen? Priests, ministers?”

“Sort of. Why?”

Elizabeth set down her book. “Jane. What do you think of this Brent man?”

Jane pursed her lips. “He's nice. Handsome.”

“Why are you going out with him?”

“He's nice. And handsome.”

“That sounds idiotic in the extreme.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “I know.”

“Now, do you have any information about who will be at the restaurant?”

“Brent mentioned something about Darcy being there, with Caroline Bingley.”

“I see. So you think Charlie might be there?”

“He broke up with me yesterday and he said he was headed to South America.”

“He could be lying.”

“Ouch!” cried Jane crossly as her knitting needle poked her in the arm. “Elizabeth, I do not need a cross-examination from anyone, particularly you of all people. Whatever feelings I have, or have had for Charlie, are my own business and I will share them with you whenever the hell I want to.” Her dreamy blue eyes suddenly intense, Jane looked at Elizabeth sharply. “If you want to join us I will not object.”

“Jane…” The corners of Elizabeth's eyes were brimming with tears. “I did not mean to pry. I am sorry if I caused you pain.”

A look of regret overwhelmed Jane's tired face, and she enveloped Elizabeth in a hug. “Lizzie, I am sorry. I'm so tense about Charlie. For once, I let my feelings go in the direction they wanted to go without restraint and they led me to love him. I do still love him so much. And it's killing me.”

“How could he believe you didn't love him?”

Jane's whole body seemed to sag and she dropped into a chair, her eyes unhealthily bright from exhaustion. “I don't know.”

“Well, then, talk to him! Don't wait for him to come to you.”

Jane seemed to flare up again. “Seeking out someone is against my very nature, Lizzie, but I searched every phone book and everyone in the company I know and every database I could find, the whole afternoon.” Then she sighed again. “I did it again, didn't I?”

“It's alright, Jane.” Elizabeth sat down next to Jane, perching precariously on the edge of the huge plush overstuffed chair, and put her arm around Jane's tired shoulders. “I will help you find him, I promise.

“Now about that dinner date, Janey Zany. It's good for you if you go. The restaurant will cheer you up, even if the man is bollocks next to Charlie.”

Jane gasped. “Lizzie!”

Elizabeth smiled. “Now that's the Jane I know. Let's get dressed. And I want to call my friend up. I'm sure you'll laugh at him.”

O0...0O

“We're here under Dawson,” Brent informed the man behind the podium, or whatever the name was of that useless tall wooden post the servers liked to stand behind and look important at. “Table for four?”

“Oh, yes,” the man found the name after what seemed an eternity. “Follow me.”

Once everyone was seated, Brent asked Elizabeth where her date was. “Oh, he's not my date,” she informed him, with a smile that was irritatingly fake. “He's more of a…family friend.”

An enormously fat man practically few over to their table, thighs bouncing as he ran. “Hello,” he smiled ingratiatingly. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Theodore Collins, I am the minister at Lady Catherine De Bourgh Cholmley's estate. I was much lauded in the press for my elegant sermon in defense of the Protestant Church. Please, don't ask for an autograph, I'm still reeling from the waiters and waitresses and other bystanders begging for one.”

Brent looked as if he was trying very hard not to laugh. “Really?” he choked out. “That's, erm, interesting- very interesting- I'm really impressed-”

“Why, thank you,” Mr. Collins smirked, readjusting his tie with a fleshy arm. “Thank you very much.”

“Yeah.” Before Brent could burst into laughter again, he asked Elizabeth, “You're Jane's best friend? And your name is…?”

“Elizabeth Bennet, but everyone calls me Lizzie.” Elizabeth shook hands with Brent.

Brent looked quite interested in Elizabeth. He really was handsome. His sandy hair glinted gold under the lighting, and his green eyes, although somewhat feminine, were piercing and held an attractive warmth to them. Not half so handsome as Will, but then again, few men were. Elizabeth smiled half-flirtatiously.

Then she remembered Jane. She couldn't flirt with Jane's date- what if she was angry? Her nerves were so strung-out one could use them as a violin.

Jane smiled at her in an empty way but a way that assured her it was okay to flirt with Brent. She was staring at the table two rows away from them, at the window. There was Caroline, in a low-cut dress that showed more cleavage than most people cared to see, and there was Darcy, staring at her in that blunt way he had, and there was Charlie Bingley.

There was Charlie Bingley.

She couldn't believe it.

Brent was trying to say something to her, but she forgot his presence and then quickly remembered. “I need to talk to Jane,” she said. “Excuse us for a minute.”

“Jane,” she whispered, once both were in the safe confines of the womens' bathroom, “how do you feel?”

“Like my dinner was going to come back up onto the plate,” Jane moaned. “There he is. How could he do that to me?”

Elizabeth was fuming. “I will destroy him-”

“And how you propose to do that?”

“I don't know, but if it will make you feel any better, I will sit up for hours on end thinking about it.”

“It won't. I can't hate people like you, Lizzie. I can't.”

“Oh.”

“Lizzie…do you like Brent?”

“He's nice,” she mocked. “And handsome.”

This response made Jane laugh at least a little. “Do you want to go out with him?”

“Maybe…” Elizabeth edged warily.

“Well, you can. I'm leaving. I want to stay home, I don't feel well.”

“Jane…”

“No, really.”

They came back to the table. Jane smiled apologetically and told Brent she'd enjoyed the dinner and hoped to see him again as a friend. Well, she put it more delicately than that, but Brent got that she was calling it quits. “So, Lizzie, if you don't mind, will you stay?”

“Absolutely,” said Elizabeth, flashing that irresistible smile and making full use of her huge, magnetic eyes. “Brent, you work at the company?”

“At a different branch,” he clarified. “Actually, I'm not an intern. I'm the manager of the Hertfordshire branch. I just told Jane that…”

“In an effort to stay more on her level?”

Brent nodded. “I've bored you with my life, now tell me about yours.”

“Well…Not much to say. I've had a rather uneventful life. I am a romantic, after a million flings I'm still looking for Mr. Right and hoping someday I'll meet him. I love cloudy days. I grew up in Kent.”

“Really?” Brent looked impressed. “I'm a romantic too, actually… and I would love to see you again. Can I have your address?”

Elizabeth, who had been staring at Caroline's interesting back-cut with ruffles and wondering if she could work that on Jane's dowdy wardrobe, blinked and may have looked rather shocked although she was not. Brent thought she felt him too familiar.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I mean, if you don't want to go that far…”

“No, no,” she laughed. “Nothing like that.” She opened her purse and salvaged a piece of paper and a pen from the wreckage. She wrote down her phone number and address and gave it to him.

They finished their dinner, laughing and talking the whole time. Will threw a few jealous glances their way, but Elizabeth and Brent were completely oblivious.

Brent felt very much in love. Elizabeth was truly amazing- funny and intelligent and a dreamer. Not to mention her drop-dead beauty and that special full-of-life glance she had.

Elizabeth felt the glow of friendship, but not love. She felt very ambiguous about Brent. But she saw some of the jealous (which she interpreted as angry) glances he threw their way. One of her faults was that she could not forgive others for theirs, and she came to the speedy conclusion that he didn't want her happy.

And so she was going to use Brent. Not to make him jealous- after all, why would he be jealous of her? It's not like he cared for her or anything- but to make him angry.

Oh, Elizabeth. If only you knew. You foolish girl.

---